"You are right I am not from these lands my home is in the Mountains far to the north" looking at Vigil. "i have traveled this world for many years and have never came across anyone like you"

Taking moment to the think back the only thing i can think of that comes close to describing you is the old legends which speak of the Watchers. Blurts out. "But it can not be though it is centuries since they were last scene or heard of."

"Tell me Vigil where do you come from?

Nigel proceeds through the hidden passage, his flame shimmering off the moisture that had accumulated on the stony walls. He steps lightly through the narrow passage hoping not to alert any guards that may be nearby. At the end was a handle to a door connecting into the royal prison, hidden seamlessly into the wall. He leans up against the door, listening in for any movement, hearing instead the conversation between the two prisoners. He held a hand out for the others to halt, cracking the door enough to look within.

Slowly he pushes the door open, putting out his flame and quietly stepping within seeing that the dungeon, for now at least, is clear. He motions for the infiltration team to follow motioning to a rather ornate metal box engraved with the crest of the First Mother, the goddess of creation. He steps over to the two prisoners. He then place his right arm to his chest and bows.

"I am Nigel Mordaine, and this was my family's kingdom, apologies for the less-than-warm welcome," he says as if it were his fault that any of this happened. "Admittedly, a rescue wasn't in the original plan, but this is hardly the first impression I want my country to have upon newcomers."

Bolin was looking Directly at the door as Nigel stepped through it. Looking at the Prince he could tell he was somewhat uncomfortable being the center of attention.

"I am Bolin Thorinson and there is no need to apologize my Lord this is not my first visit to you country, I have unfortunately spent time in worse surrounding that here. Looking past the Prince their is no need for the ladies to hide behind you the Guards have retreated to the upper floors in fear of their other guest" as he nodded to wards Vigel, though next time they plan to take part in a secret mission they should not wear so much perfume."

Vigil saw the dwarf making connections to some fabled thing from the past, perhaps one of the many stories that had grown out of someone's experience with a cambiregeist, perhaps something altogether different. He made no attempt to pry into that connection, while seeing a cambiregeist might be unusual to most people, seeing people reactions to them was not unusual to a pilgrim.

"Many places, and no places." Vigil replied when Bolin asked where he came from. It was a natural tendency of his kind to avoid letting someone know where they came from. Their society existed in almost a shadow, it's greatest protection was that it was for the most part unknown. Their city states were small and spread across the world, in out of the way places where few people think to look. They interacted with some nations, made small trade with locals, but for the most part they were entirely self sufficient and less than willing to change that. Pilgrims were different in the sense that they were curious of the outside, others intrigued them, but they were still cautious about letting people in, even so much as giving the name of a city state was rare.

The moment didn't have time to become awkward as the door opened, and to Vigil's surprise a man walked in who was clearly not a guard, with a few others behind him. Vigil knew right away that this man was important, a feeling confirmed when he heard the name "Mordaine."

"The crown protests." Vigil turned to look at the man, his eyes soft, almost round. He had spent some time contemplating his situation, until now he could not be sure of the validity of his captors claims, but here standing before him was the heir to the throne. "The crown protests, the one who sits on the thrown has no authority, only power. The great order of the world strives to correct itself." Finally Vigil stood and approached the bars.

"I am called Vigil, a pilgrim from far off lands."

Nigel looks to Bolin wide eyed cracking an awkward chuckle, hoping the scent was actually them and not some lingering fragrance the Exalted has forced him to wear. "Eheh, well... you can actually smell it from in there?"

Nigel listens to Vigil, creating a flame in his right palm and condenses it down, slipping it into the lock of each door, causing them to explode within with a sharp muffled sound. He grabs the door each time to dampen the sound resonating through the bars then slowly opens the doors.

"Of course I protest, and the one who sits on the throne now lacks both the softness of my father, nor the fairness of my mother, such an intense and unforgiving creature, but the other... well..." as he says this he pauses then motions for them to go towards the escape tunnel. "We can discuss it in more detail when we are in a good position to do so."

He then walks over to the ornate box, sitting amidst some supplies taking a moment to shake off an odd feeling before taking it into his arms. Reinhardt's words echoed back to him, it was too convenient despite all his reasoning earlier. He also had wanted to do more, but knew it was impossible to help his father and mother at this juncture. He shakes the feeling off and heads back to the tunnel.

"We'll take you two back to our... headquarters, if it can be referred to as such," he says looking to Bolin and Vigil. "From there... you can decide what you intend to do from then on out, even help an escape from this land if desired." He then lights a flame in his hand, gripping at his bow as he heads back into the damp tunnel.

"To think I'd use this to break in and break out of my own home..."

The dungeon seemed to only have two prisoners of note, one dwarf and the other being a strange, humanoid-looking creature of some description. Elsewhere in the room was an ornate box, presumably containing the oh so sacred blood of the leader of the Exalted. Why the guards hadn't thought to keep the damn thing under lock and key in a safe was beyond Rina. The dwarf's assumption didn't fail to set her off though.

"For gods sakes, we aren't wearing perfume! Why would we, out here like this?" she hissed angrily, clutching her staff. "Hmph. I suppose anything would smell like perfume to something that lived in a dank cave."

There was a split second of agreement before Helena realised her companion might just be ready to whack a tiny person even tinier, never really did had a sense of tact when agitated and it was at times like this the ladyknight would've liked Rina to act professionally instead of a spoiled brat (though she had to supress an inward chuckle at the girl's remark).

And so with something of a repressed sigh, Helena took a step forward, giving both the dwarf-lad and Rina a disapproving look; her hand gently resting on her companion's shoulder for a moment, making sure she wouldn't go into a fit. Surprisingly, she managed to calm down, simply contenting herself with a death glare aimed at the dwarf.

With the box containing the vial of blood in their possession, the party was ready to return to the pub cellar they had crawled out from. Before that, though, Prince Nigel seemed intent on freeing the prisoners in the hope that they would join the rebel cause.

"Wait a minute," said Rina. "We don't know what crimes these two were locked up for. For all we know, they could either be loyal to the crown or deranged psychopaths. Or anywhere inbetween."

From the look of things, Rina's comment seemed somewhat unjustified. Sure the cloaked guy seemed a bit shady, albeit friendly and reasonable. The dwarf obviously hadn't made good impressions with Rina, but beyond that he didn't seem to be a threat either. An expectant look darted to the would-be prince, if anyone was in the position to decide the fate of these prisoners it'd be him. Plus, the enemy of your enemy is your friend was a philosophy Helena held quite close to heart. If they proved useful...

"Yes my Lord i have grown accustomed to the smell of this place in my imprisonment"

Speaking then to Rina. "You are right to be cautious My Lady I am chained up like this because i killed six soldiers before i was captured when the convoy I was helping to escort was ambushed and i apologies for assuming the perfume can from you and your companion.

"I will gladly follow out of here if you release me although i will insist on retrieving by belongs from the from the guardroom nest door."

Vigil turned to address the two women at the door. "If it will ease your minds, I was arrested breaking curfew in my travels, I am here now because of what I am, though I know not why it is of interest to those who sit in power." Assuming this was satisfactory he turned his attention back to Bolin and nodded his agreement, the guards still had his sword and it was dear to him. He would need to retrieve it before leaving.

He approached the door to the guardroom and placed his hands on it, listening carefully. He focused on the wood, the grain, listening intently, the deeper he focused the closer he got to the other side until he could hear the very sounds hitting the other side of the door through it. There was a soft steady breathing, one guard, but nothing else. He pushed to door open slowly, the room was dark, with a single candle burning. He could see the guard sitting at a desk, head slouched over. Against the wall beyond him was a large locker, Vigil thought it seemed the perfect place for storing prisoners goods. He walked toward the guard, unnervingly quietly, and looked about for a key, which he finally found on a chain clasped to the mans side. Carefully he moved his hand down to pull the set of keys from the man.

A groan, a shuffle. The mans eyes opened.

Vigil's right hand shot up and covered the mans mouth before he could speak. There was a faint soft glow about it that pulsed calmly. "Rest, sleep. Forget me to your dreams." The mans eyes drooped, and finally closed. He would not wake for some time.

"Bolin, come, I believe I have found your belongings." Vigil called softly as he took the key and unlocked the box. There atop various other items was his sword, in almost every way it looked unremarkable, but Cambiregeist forges made anything but unremarkable steel. He picked up the weapon gingerly, running his hands down the sheath for a moment before turning toward the door.

Bolin followed Vigil as quietly as he could, carefully he lifted his armor, slipping it over his head and tolling his shoulders to make sure it settled before putting on his belt and placing five of his six Axes in the loops of his belt and quickly stuffed the rest of his equipment into his enchanted pack, quickly checking that he had collected everything of his he placed his pack on floor, placing his helm on top before locking the locker and replacing the the guards keys on his belt he placed his helm on his head hefted his pack on his back before finally picking up his Battle Axe and rejoined the others carefully and quietly closing the door behind him.

"I am ready to leave now though i suggest you lock both of our cells again my Lord, it will confused the guards and may also save them from harsher punishments if they find our cells are locked when the come to check on us.

Nigel watches Vigil's skill and delicate tact in retrieving Bolin's gear, then tranquilizing the guard with minimal drama. To say he was impressed would be an understatement, he was in jaw-dropping awe. It reminded him some of Mercy's talents to disable an opponent, but it was far more subtle than that, requiring no strike but a mere touch. "You have some interesting magic, Vigil, like a phantom or shadow," he says finally, tempted to ask for training. He then turns his head, hearing Bolin speak about locking back the doors for the sake of the guards. He figured they'd know either way, and are not seen to punish their recruits either way. He proceeds to close the doors anyways, requiring little effort. "Let us head onward then... we seem all prepared now."

With this he continues onward into the tunnel, still pondering over if this was too easy, or if they were too skilled. When he comes out, he looks out to where the backup team had remained, but something walked in front, standing there in the way was a familiar figure. It was Mercy, soon surrounded by soldiers ready to jump in. He holds up and arm and motions for them to space out, and despite their confusion, they comply. He looks out at Nigel then back to where the backup team was hidden and lets out an audible sigh.

"So you really have betrayed us, Nigel," he says, a clear tone of disappointment in his voice as he stares right at Nigel. "Or rather, you were never one of us to begin with."

Nigel was frozen in place for a moment, it took a moment to grasp the situation. It was a trap, but not by the entire Exalted, only Mercy, he was wanting to isolate the resistance himself, to try to stop them himself, it was... how he was even before the indoctrination as an Exalted. He liked to diffuse situations. "Erich, you saw what they did when they came here, the destruction and the takeover... does-"

"I give you all a chance to surrender, I don't want to use force but I will if necessary," Mercy says, wiping his forehead. "I promise you will be treated fairly."

Bolin listens to Mercy speak as he get rest of his armor out of his pack and finishes dressing himself for battle and makes sure he has his Flash-flames and smoke bombs in the pouches on his belt before putting his pack on his back.

Slowly making his way forward till he is beside Nigel, so he can ask him what he plans to do now they have been caught.

"You. You get to be my assistant for the day. Come, don't be shy."

Jonathan pointed at a young little girl within the students in his classroom. With little hesitation, the child got off the stool she sat on and stood beside her teacher.

"OK, now, what's your name, sweetheart?"

Mary. Her name was Mary; he'd overheard it from her parents, sitting quietly in the back of the room. The child's answer confirmed that was, indeed, her name.

"Mary? Good. Good! Now, are you ready for your first lesson?"

The 6-year old nodded eagerly, a grin on her slightly dusty face.

"Perfect! Now, class. Today we discuss the basics of magic. Magic is a... A strange force that seems to be as old as time itself. It comes in many kinds of shapes, colors, and forms; from the deadliest of curses to the purest of blessings."

Jonathan quickly ran his eyes across the room, making sure his students were listening. Three youths, four parents who begged to be let in so they could see how he worked his "magic"; and, finally, five teenagers who were curious enough to try something new. All twelve of them stared intently, as he expected them to.

"The use of magic by any entity is referred to as 'casting'. Casting requires three things to function. The first is a conduit."

From his sleeve, the magus draws a long wooden rod and hands it to Mary.

"Although some beings possess the power to cast without one, we require the help of a tool like a wand to channel and guide magical essence, so it may be put to practical use."

From his pocket, Jonathan now draws a small roll of paper, containing the knowledge needed to cast an extremely simple spell; Flashfire, a small shower of sparks.

"The second thing required to cast is a spell. A spell is, in a nutshell, a template to copy magic off. Once you memorize a spell, you need not read a scroll to cast; it shall become second nature. But, as a beginner, a piece of paper like this will come in very handy."

Taking a few steps towards a wall, the teacher quickly swipes a bottle of blue elixir off a shelf to continue:

"The third and final thing required to cast is mana. Mana is what fuels magic, sustains magic and creates magic. Some beings can generate their own mana, but humans like us cannot."

It was worth noting everyone in the room was human; no other strange race was allowed in Jonathan's household. Yes, Jonathan used his basement as a classroom. No one really minded, and whoever did wouldn't have stayed long.

"Luckily, through research and practice, magic users have found ways to grant non-privileged people access to the arcane arts."

Pulling out a small cup from his other pocket, Jonathan served Mary a drink from the blue bottle he had picked up earlier.

"Here, Mary. With some supplements like these, you'll be able to cast in no time. Drink up; it's sweeter than any candy you've ever tasted."

The little girl did drink, although she did find the taste very strong. Once she downed the entire cup, her teacher gave her a pat on the back.

"Splendid! Now, take the wand and this scroll, and with all of your might try and muster up some Flashfire, alright?"

Mary nodded, a bit of a nervous expression on her face as she ran her eyes across the paper and felt up the wooden rod in her hand. After a bit of mental preparation, she closed her eyes and uttered:

'Sparks! Showers! Fire!'

With a flick of her wrist and strong voice, the child managed to execute the incantation on her first try, releasing a shower of sparks that flew towards her classmates and harmlessly dissipated.

"Perfect! Yes, yes, yes, that was perfect!"

Jonathan picked up the child and gave her a quick hug, absorbing her happiness. Once they had celebrated for a moment, Jonathan quickly looked over to his clock, clacking quietly in the corner of the room.

"Oh, dear, I don't have any more time today. All of you, return tomorrow if you can; I'll be giving you all a proper initiation as soon as possible."

Within minutes, his house was devoid of life except for himself. Taking the stairs up to his living quarters, he couldn't help but smile. He enjoyed bringing happiness to others, seeing them enjoy themselves.
It was getting dark outside as Jonathan contemplated the world through the window of the second floor of his shack.

"Someday. Someday, I'll find someone who'll lead me to my destiny. For now, this is all I need."



'

At Jonathan's front door comes a knock, a slow rhythmic knock. A lone figure stands outside, no taller than an average human female, dressed in a gray robe of stitched fabric, face obscured except for one green eye and strands of crimson red hair. They stand upon his front doorstep, staring at the door. The figure pauses, slowly turning to the window to see if he's inside then looks back to the door.

The wind that once blew through the streets seems stifled by the person's presence, the street lamp flames sputter to remain lit. It was as if their very presence upset the balance. To anyone even remotely sensitive to magic would feel it, an almost indescribable emptiness, like a consuming void.

"I know you are... here, as you know I am as... well," a hoarse female voice comes from beneath the cloth, cracking on some words, especially those with multiple syllables, as if straining to speak. "To make me... wait... would be... in-oppor-tune."

As Jonathan contemplated the slums, he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He became short of breath, an indescribable feeling upsetting his insides. Words faintly reached his ears, loud and soft at the same time. Looking down towards his front door, he took note of the woman in the cloak. Hoping to not upset the anomaly, he quickly took the stairs down towards his balcony, his teeth clacking quietly as a strong cold enveloped him. With slight hesitation, he opened the door to the stranger. Hopefully, she just wanted a cup of sugar.

The figure lowers her hand and stares right into Jonathan's eyes, or eye, in this case, the strange stagnant feeling permeating the air around her. "Jon-a-than is it... not," she asks, forcing the words out as she spoke. "You prac-tice ma-gic... teach... study... how much do you know about it... it's na-ture?"

"How it scars... and twists... the body... the mind," she mutters edging dangerously close. Her breathing becomes heavy, before digging into her robe and pulling out a flask, sticking it underneath the cloth covering her face. At first the contents are uncertain, but a glowing blue fluid dripping down her chin revealing its nature. Her breathing begins returning to normal, as normal could be said for her. "I can't... use ma-gick... but I need it... is that... not sick?"

"Food is taste-less... unfulfill-ing... and wa-ter... stag-nant... only mana works, and I... hate it," she holds up the flask to Jonathan's face. "Many try to cure... all fail... do you know... what is wrong..? Why I'm... cursed?"

The magus found himself in an incredibly uncomfortable position, as the woman slowly spoke to him. Up close, her aura was overwhelming: it felt like Death himself had a grip on her. He couldn't help but feel bad for the forsaken female.

"Well... *cough* I, uh... I can try and see what's wrong, if you let me try. Come in, my equipment is downstairs."

Without a single word, the stranger followed him into his basement. Jonathan quickly went for his journal, and scribbled a few things down:

"To whomever bothers to read this; today, I, Jonathan, have found myself in an odd situation. A stranger has appeared at my front door, asking for assistance in lifting a curse. I shall study her as closely as she'll allow it; I hope what skill I have shall allow me to figure out what her affliction is."

Closing the book and putting it back where he had stashed it, he began conducting a few experiments. His first experiment involved exposing her to the elements: candles were lit, and in her presence snuffed out. Interesting. Jonathan then attempted to cast a few spells in her presence: weak spells were never triggered and even incantations capable of burning houses down only brought forth harmless sparks. Very strange; very strange indeed. His third experiment was a large dose of his elixir; he made a sizeable batch and gave the woman three large flasks to draw from. Her condition did improve slightly, and her aura weakened for a short time, but eventually she deteriorated, and returned to square one.

Jonathan, at this point, was ready to give his verdict.

"Miss, I believe I may understand what affliction you've been struck with. If my theories are correct, someone, something has hexed you; the curse in question is a silencing curse, one that normally dampens or negates magic in an area or in a person. However... This is not the work of an ordinary caster. Whatever has cursed you possessed immense power, so much so that his incantation does not only drain any mana from your system... But it's robbing you of your life force. Any supplementary mana you take does seem to help, but the amounts necessary to stabilize you are inefficient."

He could tell she was not pleased to hear his diagnosis. Before she could make a remark, he quickly added:

"But! If my theory is correct and you are indeed the victim of a silencing spell, there is a cure for these kinds of hexes. An exposure to strong magic is required, stronger than whatever has struck you down. Perhaps... Perhaps someone like the Exalted. Yes. Yes! If anyone can help you, it's them. An Exalted might be capable of purging your curse!"

Jonathan noticed he had let himself get a bit too excited; he calmed down, and waited to hear a response from his guest.

"So I see... what you sug-gest," she says with a sigh. Her tone and body language becoming unreadable. She stands up and picks up a mirror and looks deeply at her reflection, squinting her eye. "I should simply... make more... Ex-al-ted..."

"I fig-ured that was the... case. When I... first took com-mand of them... their pres-sence soothed me, satiated the hunger some... perhaps more would... cure me... make me whole again... es-pec-ially that... blessed girl..." She lowers the cloth on her covered eye and looks back to Jonathan, the eye was missing, only a scarred socket, a phantasmic glow like a burning flame is all that fills it, a trait most associated to the tyrant usurper, Balor, yet she stands now in a form that is almost human, unlike the image first seen. "You... have been use-ful... and kind... un-ex-pected... ma-gic users of my time were... diff-er-ent... were con-de-scend-ing... arr-o-gant..."

She looks down and narrows her eyes before lifting her head again, staring directly at Jonathan with a piercing gaze. "If I... were to take you to them... the Ex-alt-ed... could you... make a cure from their... ess-ence?"

Jonathan was thrown off by the woman's comment. Make more Exalted? What did she mean by-

OH GOD, the magus thought to himself. He finally got look at the stranger's face, and her flaming eye-socket caught him off guard. He flinched slightly, but made no noise as the stranger finished her sentence.

"A cure? Well, normally a counterspell would be the plan of action... But if I could get my hands on their "essence"... I should be able to make a cure-all from it, hopefully one strong enough to heal you."

The woman's stare was incredibly hard to look at; he felt like the miss was looking right through him.

"But, that said... Can you actually get me to the Exalted? Not, not that I doubt your resolve or anything! It's just... not many people know them personally."

The LAST thing Jonathan wanted to do was offend his guest: not knowing what she's capable of, he really preferred being alive.

"Of course, I own them... as I do this... land," she says this in such a matter of fact way, as if it were something so simple. "I am Balor, after-all... per-haps you've heard that... name?"

She covers her eye once more and starts walking out, then turns back to look at Jonathan once more. "You shall come with... me... make this... cure-all," her tone clearly telling that this wasn't exactly an open as a yes or no request, and she made sure that was clear to Jonathan. "This way."

With this she starts to head out into the streets, setting sights on the castle, fully aware of the conflict brewing there. "Triv-ial fools... with triv-ial goals, they can-not lead a fu-ture... they can-not lead them-selves," she mutters disinterestedly as she leads on towards the castle.

Balor? It was a name he vaguely recognized, but if she OWNS the Exalted AND the kingdom he lives in... He felt kind of stupid for not recognizing her name.

He was pretty excited however, that he finally had a chance to DO something. He had been dreaming of being able to be a great hero, go down in history. Hopefully he'd be able to be of use to his... queen? That would be her title, technically if she owned all this land.

Nonetheless, Jonathan quickly grabbed his staff from his closet and followed Balor through the streets.

As Balor leads Jonathan to the main royal gates, Nigel feels that burning sensation again, turning his head slowly to catch a glimpse of her. She was not in a form familiar to him, but she felt the same as the monster he had been near for a time now. His mouth goes agape, reaching for his bow, arming it and taking aim. His hands trembling. She pauses and casts a glance to him. "You... you knew all along, didn't you," Nigel growls, his tone both frightened and agitated, a feeling of being played this entire time washes over him. In a moment he struggles, hesitant, part of him not desiring to hate the tyrant, but another wanting to erase her from the throne no matter the cost.

"Mind... them not... they are... noth-ing," Balor says to Jonathan, a tone cold and dispassionate. She then looks to Vigil, causing a twitch in her expression, as if she were shocked for a moment before heading forward into the castle gates. "So it begins..."

Nigel held frozen with his bow, his skin bleached, as if he's seen death. Mercy sees this and charges him, and in like a blink, disarms him and shoves him back to the others. "Make this easier for yourselves and just surrender."

The prince has been thrown into a loop, this had gone wrong and he knew it. He had hoped not to fight but the situation was providing little other options. He snapped a spark into the air, signaling that it went awry.

Godefray was waiting in the alleyway when something in the sky caught his eye, a spark in the air. That must have been the signal! Things must have gone wrong! Looking back at the other he drew his sword. "That's our signal brave fighters! Our allies are in danger and we must hurry up and help them!" With a rallying cry Godefray rushes from his hiding spot over to where the prison was with his men right behind him.

Arriving at the prison, Godefray spots a group of soldiers led by one familiar man. "Mercy...I want everyone to be on their guard, rookies stay behind and take out the regular grunts, I will coordinate the more experienced men in subduing Mercy." He called to the men behind him before taking hold of his sword with both of his hands. "My soul that burns as hot as the sun, unleash my flames through this sword! Phoenix Ignition!" His sword would then burn ablaze and with one single swing, a wave of flames would make their way towards Mercy and his men, hopefully scattering them and giving them a chance to group.

As Jonathan and Balor neared the castle gates, the woman had told him to ignore "them". Not knowing what she referred to, he quickly looked about; from the corner of his eye, he takes note of a small squad of people squaring off against...

Against one of the Exalted?

He cringed at the thought of someone challenging the almighty beings that had taken over these lands. They were either very powerful, or incredibly stupid to think they could take down what is quite possibly the strongest race of sentients in the entire Realm!

Seeing no point in intervening unless Balor would be attacked, and considering she had no worry over the situation, he decided that for now, he wouldn't give a shit.

As Bolin saw Godefray's men appear he tossed one of his flash-Flames at the largest group of soldiers blasting them off their feet and charged into the gap it created swinging his Axe overhead shouting "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"

Catching the first soldier on the sword arm severing his arm at the wrist before knocking him aside as the whirled his Axe and danced his way through the soldiers, side stepping their incoming blows as he used his Axe to cripple and maim as he cut a bloody path through there ranks making his way towards Mercy.

Mercy looks to Gofefray's wave of fire headed his way, then to the dwarf, Bolin, cutting through his men, a look of disapproval upon his face as he slowly shakes his head. "Be silent," he mutters holding his hand out to the wave of flames, various light blue glowing marks appearing across his exposed skin, upon further inspection it is in fact his veins. As the flame touches his hand it bursts into a rain of embers, dispersed by his dampening field.

He shoves his nearest subordinate away and signals to disperse. It wasn't a tactical decision, the men were clearly various shades of green, having not been in real combat, rookies he had likely been training himself and he wasn't prepared to sacrifice them in this endeavor.

"I had hoped this would be easier, but I knew otherwise... still, cannot fault a man for trying," Mercy says, taking off his rags of a coat revealing a vest underneath and each of his arms from wrist up to shoulder had grown a boney plating of armor, carved ornate into a shape like the feathers of a dove.

"I'm sorry I won't be meeting you blade-to-blade, but I've lost faith in instruments of death," with this he kicks up a sizable rock and catches it with one hand, giving it a mighty toss at Bolin as he draws near.